Таять
by Eavenne
Summary: Таять (Tayat', Russian): "To Melt" France tries to teach Russia how to love.


Таять (Tayat' (Russian) – To Melt)

"…I remember that. So, it was you?"

As he waited for an answer France's gaze wandered across Russia's face, searching and intent. Yet, Russia's smile only broadened.

" _Da_."

Mere minutes ago, France had been attending yet another World Meeting. He'd gone through his familiar routine of bickering with England, flirting with the women, and getting yelled at by Germany (France suspected that the other man just really needed to get laid – it was worth a try).

That was all fine and dandy, but when the meeting ended and everyone was about to leave, Belgium had brought up France's old radio show.

"Are you going to bring it back?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, so you miss it, _Belgique_? Unfortunately, I was sued for – "

"Aww, that's a shame." Belgium flashed a smile at France before turning to leave. "I loved it. It was hilarious!"

She walked out, and the room slowly emptied itself as a bewildered France wildly guessed at what exactly had been so funny. His talk show had been completely serious! There was no doubt in France's mind that his relationship advice had saved countless lovelorn maidens and given a second wind to numerous despairing suitors.

Well, it was true that his anonymous letter segment had attracted some rather _exciting_ questions.

"Didyou know, _Suisse_ ," said France, addressing Switzerland from across the room, "that a sweet girl, whom I do suspect is your dear sister, wrote in to ask me how to –"

Silenced by the immediate threat of hot lead disfiguring his handsome face, France watched with amusement as Switzerland scowled, slowly lowered his raised gun, and stalked out.

France was about to leave as well, when the sudden pressure of a hand on his shoulder rooted him to the ground. Someone stood directly behind him, restraining France with a soft yet firm touch. It seemed that they were the only two people left in the meeting room.

A whispery chuckle tickled France's ears. Ah, he could recognise that laugh anywhere – his dear captor was Russia.

The other nation had always unsettled him – well, France knew that this was hardly unusual, since Russia scared everyone – and so, France had resolved to tread carefully around the other man. It seemed that there was no way out of his present situation, though: Russia was one of the strongest nations around, and France didn't see America anywhere nearby to save him from his plight.

"I wrote in too!"

Light and excited, Russia's voice floated into France's ear like a fleeting flurry of snow. Similarly, Russia's hand on France's shoulder was cold, and France felt an unwelcome chill creep into his skin.

"R-really?" said France, desperately hoping that Russia would let go of him. Instead, Russia only leaned in closer.

"I asked you what I could do to make people like me."

Oh.

Turning around, France met Russia's gaze. The other man's eyes were a deep blue: a blue so dark that it almost seemed to take on a purple hue.

"…I remember that. So, it was you?"

" _Da_."

Was France surprised? No, not really. It'd been a pity that he hadn't figured it out himself – well, France had always been somewhat aware of Russia's desire to make friends, but the other man had scared him away like everyone else.

"I told you to offer your love to them and then use a pick-up line, didn't I? Did that work?" France asked, already knowing the answer. When he'd answered the question, France had been under the impression that the asker had been trying to get better at flirting: it _was_ a radio show for relationship advice, after all.

Yet, Russia's needs appeared to be different, and France supposed he could at least give the other man some sorely needed advice.

"Hmm…" Russia tilted his head, thinking. "That was not really the answer I was hoping for, though."

"Well, would you take Big Brother France's advice again, _Russie_?" A few years ago, France had teased Lithuania into his bed. He'd seen the scars on Lithuania's back, and had kissed them gently – still, the other man stiffened at the touch, and France hadn't asked why.

Being hurt was par for the course when one was a nation. Yet, Lithuania's wounds came from love, instead of hate. It wasn't anything romantic – no, France didn't think Russia had ever been in love – but was instead something innocent that had been twisted into madness.

If Russia was willing to hear him out, France thought he could try and teach the other man how to _love_.

"Alright. What should I do?" Russia asked, his smile not wavering in the slightest.

"Firstly – and most importantly – you need to accept that people might not like you." As France saw it, that was the main reason why everyone not powerful enough to oppose Russia remained frightened of him: they feared his reaction if he found out that they didn't see him as a friend.

It seemed that France had made a mistake.

Russia's smile froze. His eyes darkened and his grip on France's shoulder strengthened with an unspoken threat; his voice grew strained and tight with emotion as he said, "I asked you how to _make_ people like me."

It was like staring into a blizzard. France could only will his legs to stop shaking, and try to look the storm in the eye.

"Y…you can't force people to like you. It's _their_ _choice_. You have to accept that, _Russie_. You might be able to keep someone by your side, but that doesn't mean you can win their heart." Even as he tried to reason with Russia, France began to despair of talking sense into the other man. Perhaps it really was too late for anything to change – why had he thought he'd be able to help?

At France's words, the swirling storm before him calmed, and grew still. The cold intensity in Russia's gaze melted away into vulnerability instead, and he looked away. Silently, Russia's fingers loosened their grip on France's shoulder and slipped from it entirely.

A quick glance at the door reminded France that he could just turn and run. Russia seemed too preoccupied to bother chasing him, and it didn't seem like their little session was working out.

Yet, France stayed. He could see that there was something hurt and bleeding within Russia's huge body – France suspected that the other man's heart had been broken long ago, battered by the relentless Russian winter and pierced by the arrows of conquest. If words of love could stich Russia's tattered heart back together, France was the best nation for the job.

After all, France's heart was the City of Love.

"…Well, then. Tell me how to win people's hearts, France. Talk to me, and I will listen. I will try. You _will_ help me, yes?" Once again, Russia reached out to grasp France's shoulder, but buried under the obvious threat was something earnest, something _sincere_.

Maybe there was hope for Russia after all. But first –

"I have one condition," said France, hesitantly closing his hand around Russia's wrist.

"Hm? What is it?" Russia had started smiling again, seemingly making a rather determined attempt at cheer.

"No threats. I know how strong you are, _Russie_. You don't need to get violent with me." Slowly, France lifted Russia's hand from his shoulder. To his immense relief, Russia responded positively, and didn't resist the loss of physical contact.

"Alright, France. I will try. But this kind of thing is normal, yes?" Russia asked, raising an eyebrow.

Clearly, they had much to work on.

The World Meeting went on for another fortnight. Whenever they were free, France would coach Russia on how to act more appropriately around others. It became obvious that Russia was taking France's advice seriously, and so France tried his hardest to push past his fear of Russia, and be helpful.

Even though he was rather tempted to suggest that Russia flirt with everyone, France decided to give more practical advice – don't threaten physical violence; don't say creepy things; don't force physical affection on others. Despite Russia's best attempts, it proved difficult to change his habits in mere weeks. Instead, he often ended up frantically taking back his words and apologising to whomever he talked to.

As it turned out, none of Russia's relationships had changed much by the end of the World Meeting: the Baltics remained wary of him, Ukraine continued to avoid him, and Belarus was as obsessed as ever. When Russia and France walked back to their hotel together on the last day, Russia's apparent failure was brought up and lamented.

"I tried so hard." Russia's voice was brittle, and his pace was unusually brisk.

"I know, but this kind of thing takes time," said France, struggling to keep up with Russia's long strides. Their eyes met for a moment and Russia quickly looked away – yet, his footsteps slowed, and soon stopped altogether. Coming to a halt as well, France observed Russia intently.

Watching Russia was like gazing into a snow globe. Thanks to the glass-like transparency of Russia's heart, his swirling feelings were on display for the whole world to see – but that same glass was an insurmountable barrier that separated France's words from Russia's soul. As it was, France was a mere onlooker to Russia's troubles.

A sudden thought flashed through France's mind – to put it bluntly, he'd really like to take a sledgehammer to that glass wall.

"Will I _ever_ be able to win their hearts, France?" Though Russia wasn't looking him in the eye, France could hear the sigh in Russia's voice and perceive the complete and utter resignation in his tone.

If France had any lingering doubts, they'd been swept away like dust at Russia's words. It seemed that Russia had finally come to terms with the fact that he couldn't force someone to like him.

"You will." Replacing France's uncertainty was a swelling pride that joyously expanded in his chest. Reaching out, France placed a hand on Russia's shoulder, and the other man looked up in surprise. Their eyes met, and France smiled.

"You will," he continued, "because the _fleur_ of your sincerity is blooming for all to see. You can't erase the past, but you can mend the present. The people you love know that, and they will respond to you in time."

As France spoke, a small, shy smile crept onto Russia's lips. It was the first truly warm expression that France had seen on Russia's face. He hoped there would be many more to come.

"That makes me glad! Thank you for your kind words, and thank you for helping me in the past few days." Gently, Russia patted the hand that France had placed on his shoulder. His smile broadened, and grew sunny in his increasing happiness.

"And, besides," said France, squeezing Russia's shoulder in return, "you've already been rather successful."

"Really?" Russia's eyes lit up in excitement. "I managed to win someone's heart?"

It was an absolutely adorable reaction, and France couldn't hold back the laugh that burst from his lips. While a puzzled Russia stared at him curiously, France cleared his throat, and met those beautiful eyes.

"Oh, Ivan, you've already won mine."


End file.
